


Rite of Passage

by sabby1



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alien Rituals, Animal Death, F/M, First Time, Hunting, Kink Meme, Prompt Fill, Rites of Passage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 15:08:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4064494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabby1/pseuds/sabby1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt Fill for Star Trek XI Kink Meme.</p><p>Nyota Uhura has to go through a rite of passage to be recognized as an adult in her tribe. Coincidentally, Spock has to go through his own rite of passage at the same time. Things happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rite of Passage

**Author's Note:**

> Better late than never. This is a prompt fill for the Star Trek XI (2009) Kink Meme on Livejournal. The prompt was:
> 
> Uhura and Spock are teens and have a rite of passage to go though. Hers is African woman empowerment, and his is a Vulcan thing that’s more unspeakable and shameful than pon farr. Nyota has to hunt a wild animal (cheetah/lion) and Spock has to screw a chick from another planet.
> 
> things that gotta be in there:  
> -Spock finds Nyota in mid hunt and sees her all primal and stuff  
> -mind-blowing animalistic sex (grunty hot sticky mess)  
> -years later, them seeing each other at the academy and remembering what happened(possible additional sex scene from lust?)  
> wow I'm uber specific...sorry lol that’s just how I started it, any interpretation you've got on it would make me uber happy! ^^;;;;
> 
> * * *

It is the beginning of the academic year of 2257, precisely one week before the start of classes and a few organizational matters have yet to be completed. For that reason Spock has been summoned before the Head of the Linguistic Department to be assigned his new aide for the upcoming year. 

He has little regard for the fashion in which these matters are handled, as he has had no vote in the choosing of his assistant and nobody has seen fit to inform him at a prior date, to give him an opportunity to test his new aide, or to properly introduce them to the specific requirements pertaining to their task. 

As such, he sees no reason to indulge the need of his human superior for meaningless small talk. He chooses to wait in silence for the arrival of the cadet that the Academy deems appropriate while the gray haired man across the table preoccupies himself with reading personnel files. 

The door signal chimes just as the Head of Department sets aside the file. “Ah, right on time, as always.” He looks up and raises his voice towards the door. “Come in.” 

Spock rises from his seat and turns to greet the cadet that will be his new assistant.

The Department Head smiles benignly as he stretches out his arm and waves the newcomer towards them. “May I introduce you, Commander Spock. This is your new aide for Advanced Phonology. Cadet Nyota Uhura.” 

A sensation that strongly resembles direct contact with an electric current races down his spine when he recognizes the woman’s facial features. He dimly registers it as a reaction to stress. 

Once he is in control of his emotional reaction, Spock notices the outward signals of Cadet Uhura’s distress. She, too, has recognized him and is now confronted with the unpleasant memory of their previous acquaintance. 

“I believe the customary greeting in this situation is: I am pleased to meet you, Cadet Uhura.” Spock's voice remains calm and unaffected as he folds his hands behind his back, discouraging any attempts at physical contact. 

Her voice is a little breathy as she responds. “Yeah. It’s nice to meet you too, Commander Spock.” Her cheeks are flushed with embarrassment and he can clearly see the sweat breaking out at her temples as she stares into his eyes.

~~

“Nyota! Nyota, where are you?” 

She’s hiding in the last place her mother would ever look for her, and she has absolutely no intention to give away her whereabouts. She’d rather spend all day cramped into the secret maintenance module underneath her closet than come out and hear another lecture.

It’s barbaric, what her mother wants her to do, and she’s neither into killing animals nor into getting killed by them. It’s not that she’s ashamed of her heritage, or that she doesn’t want to honor it - within reason - but this is clearly ridiculous, dangerous and absolutely unnecessary. She’s empowered enough by her books, thank you very much, and by the incredibly advanced education she has been privy to thanks to her uncle’s connections within the Federation. She doesn’t need to go out there and go through silly, archaic, life threatening rituals to be an empowered woman and become an adult. What if it got her killed, has her mother ever thought of that?

“Nyota, come here, this instant!” 

She cowers a little deeper into the corner and turns off her flashlight, just in case. If she can just keep hiding for a full year, maybe then this whole ritual idea will be old hat and she won’t have to go through with it. Of course, she knows that it’s impossible. She’s sixteen years old and she has known this was coming since she was twelve. But that doesn’t mean she can’t hope, or dream, that it doesn’t have to happen to her. 

This is the 23rd century. The human race is pretty much at the pinnacle of its evolution in terms of science and society. Stupid, archaic, barbaric rituals like the one her family wants her to go through should be extinct by now. But, no, some of them just had to survive, and evolve of all things. If this was the 19th or even the 20th century she would have been safe. Well, she wouldn’t have had to go out there in the wilderness and try to kill a predatory cat. That was boy stuff back then. On the other hand, back then, girls still got the worse end of the stick, because they were circumcised and mutilated for life. 

So, maybe she’s glad that some evolving happened in that area. That still doesn’t mean she wants to go out there and risk her life, trying to kill an exact replica of an extinct species with deadly claws and fangs and about twenty pounds of weight on her. She won’t even get to use a phaser. She’ll have to do it with archaic weapons. How is she supposed to kill an animal with a bow and arrow, or a spear, or a knife? Her mother knows she sucks at handling those weapons. She can’t hit the broad side of a barn with an arrow, let alone a running, deadly predator coming at her full speed.

Her hands are shaking, so she stuffs them under her arms and clamps them against her chest. She’s just going to hide here. And the next time her mother brings it up when she’s not hiding, she’s going to threaten her with calling Child Protective Services. There has to be a law against sending your children out to meet certain death, even if it’s for religious purposes. 

“Fine, stay wherever you are. You will have to come out eventually!” 

Hah, she can hold out for days in here if she has to. Okay, maybe hours is more like it. There’s no food in here, not to mention, no bathroom. 

“I just wanted to let you know that everything for the ritual has been set up. Tomorrow by sun-up, we’re going to the gathering. You’ll be prepared until noon and then you will go out and fulfill your task before sun-down. I expect you to make your family proud.”  
The finality in her mother’s voice makes her tremble all over. Tomorrow. Tomorrow? That’s way too soon! She can’t do this. She’s not strong enough to do this. She doesn’t want to die. She’s only sixteen. She’s too young to die. She can’t die. She can’t die. She won’t die. 

She’s going to run away. She has to run away. Her mother gives her no choice, really. And she has a greater chance of survival out there in the big bad world with some pocket money and her language skills than she has here facing a predator with a handful of archaic weapons. She’ll still take the knife, though.

She scrambles out of her hiding place just in time to hear the locks on her door engage. Her frantic gaze flies to the window, but before she can reach it the external carbon blinds fall down hard, plunging her into complete darkness for a moment before the automatic lights come on.

She’s trapped, a prisoner in her own room, waiting for her death sentence to be carried out come tomorrow. 

As the knowledge sinks in, Nyota Uhura sinks to the floor and draws her knees up to her chest. She’ll die tomorrow. She’s only sixteen but that doesn’t matter. She’ll never live to see her seventeenth birthday. She’ll never go on a date with that cute boy from her parallel class, because she never had the guts to ask him out and now she’ll never get to. She’s never going to go to Starfleet Academy and become an officer. She’ll never get to see all the planets that she wants to go to, and never meet new, exciting people and learn their languages. She won’t get to do any of the things she wants to do.

Because tomorrow, she will die. 

She hugs her knees tightly and starts rocking back and forth as the tears stream down her face. 

~~

“Father, I do not see the merit of this ritual.” Spock tries hard to maintain a calm temper and control his posture as he voices his complaint.

The bare instructions and minimal introduction he has been given in regards to the Kahs’dahr leaves him to conclude that this ritual is not only archaic but greatly illogical. 

“It is a rite of passage that all male Vulcans have to honor. And as you choose to follow our customs, and have been given sufficient instructions, further discussion of this matter is superfluous.” 

Spock wants to protest. He wants to bring up the fact that he already passed a rite of passage when he was barely seven years old. He wants to ask how the endurance of a second, ludicrous, rite would serve him or their people as a whole. However, he can see that any further discussion with his father will bear no fruit and is therefore illogical and a waste of time and energy.

“Very well, father.” His hand encircles his wrist tightly behind his back as he concedes. 

“Very good. The ritual will take place tomorrow, beginning at midday. You will be prepared and sent out to accomplish your task by the end of the day.” After those final instructions, Sarek vacates the room and leaves Spock to think about what has just transpired. 

He does not understand what purpose could be served by this ritual. He is versed enough in human social behavior and colloquialisms that he can draw a relation between this Vulcan rite of passage and the informal Standard idiom of ‘sowing your wild oats’. However, he fails to see how he or anyone else would benefit from being introduced into a state of artificial euphoria and sent to a randomly chosen Federation planet to engage in sexual intercourse with a native woman of said planet. 

It is completely illogical. The only other part of Vulcan custom that defies any attempt at logic in a comparable manner is the cyclically recurring affliction which shall not be spoken of. Perhaps there is a connection there that he is not aware of. Unfortunately, he knows that a query into these matters will not garner him any results. 

In light of the futility of the situation, Spock elects to sit down at the table and occupy himself with his incomplete kal-toh. As he strives to bring order to the chaotic formation of t’ans, his mind remains preoccupied with the ritual he is expected to undergo tomorrow. 

He cannot imagine succeeding. He does not want to imagine it, as that could essentially entail forcing an unwilling female into participation in sexual intercourse. The common term in Standard for this action is rape and the common punishment demands up to ten years in federal prison. Religious freedom and doctrine do not grant exception to this rule. He was not raised to force himself on others. He can’t imagine what his mother will say. He doubts his mother is even aware of this ritual. If she was, she wouldn’t have allowed it. She had barely allowed him to undergo the Kahs’wan. 

His mother is the embodiment of humanity. She would have a violent emotional outburst and use her substantial leverage on his father to forbid this ritual and effectively keep it from happening. Perhaps, he should talk to his mother and confide in her about his misgivings concerning the Kahs’dahr.

However, he has chosen to follow the Vulcan way. He has spent years perfecting his own methods to achieve a status relieved from the burden of emotional bias and is even now considering undergoing Kolinahr once he has been accepted by the Vulcan Science Academy. It would be detrimental to his plans to sabotage any Vulcan rite at this point in time.

He places another t’an in the construct and watches as the incremental beginnings of order that he has achieved up to this point collapse. The Kal-toh is once again a misshapen bundle of steel pins, waiting for a logical mind to bring order to the chaos. Realizing that he is in no state to succeed in that objective at the moment, Spock leaves the table and retires to the comfortable area set up in the back of his private rooms. He will meditate until he has calmed his thoughts and accepted his fate. 

It takes him longer than expected but in the end, he arrives at a somewhat satisfactory conclusion. 

Tomorrow, he will submit himself to the Kahs’dahr. However, once the ritual is completed he plans to take full responsibility for his actions and grant full retribution to any injured party that might result from the proceedings. 

~~

When they come to take her, she is hiding in the module again. She’s quiet as a mouse, holding her breath, as she listens to their shouts and the noises they make while looking for her. She’s almost sure they’re not going to find her. But then the hatch flies open and she’s exposed to the blinding artificial light of the room. Strong hands grab her arms, bruising them as they tear her out of the small module and proceed to drag her across the room and out of the door. 

She screams and she cries, but they don’t listen to her. And when she begs them to let her go, her own mother slaps her across the face.

“Be silent, child, you’re bringing shame on our family.” 

“Mommy!” 

Nyota is scared and confused and she doesn’t know why this is happening to her. She’s just a kid, just a girl, she doesn’t want this. Why did her mother want to hurt her? Why isn’t her daddy here to stop them? Why is all this happening?

They’re holding her so tightly it feels like her arms are going to be ripped out of their sockets, and her feet flail helplessly inches above the ground as they carry her off. She tries one more time, with every bit of strength she’s got to tear herself loose and kicks at her captors as much as she can. She takes a deep breath for an almighty scream but before she can so much as whimper something pokes her in the neck and she feels her life sapped out of her. 

When she wakes up again, she is chained at her wrists and ankles, sitting on hard sandy ground in front of a large fire. The sun is just coming up over the horizon and she wishes she were anywhere else. Her eyes roll around, trying to find a savior among the large group of people that dance and chant by the fire. The rhythm of the drums makes her heart beat faster as she sucks in quick hard breaths through her mouth and nose. 

One of the people approaches her. It’s not a relative. She doesn’t know this woman, she’s probably never seen her before. Even if she has, Nyota would never recognize her under the big, bright smears of different colors covering her whole face. The woman is right in front of her now, and she’s holding a long narrow board with several pots of strange stuff in them. 

“Please. Please, don’t. Please.” Nyota whimpers as the woman reaches for her face. 

She doesn’t know what’s going to happen. Everything she’s ever been told about the ritual is blown from her mind and all she can think is she’s going to die and they’re going to let her. They’re going to make her go out there and die. 

“I don’t want to die, please. I don’t… please, please don’t let me die.” She sobs between words and her whole face is wet and cold with tears and gook. 

The woman doesn’t even acknowledge her pleas. She just grabs a cloth from her tunic and wipes Nyota's face and nose like she's a toddler. When she starts crying again, she gets slapped in the face for it, so she sucks in her bottom lip and bites down on it, trying not to cry anymore. She’s going to die, and they don’t care. None of them care, not even her mother. Nyota can’t find her mother’s face among all the painted women, but she’s there. She’s watching and she doesn’t care. 

The strange woman in front of her dabs gnarly fingers into one of the pots and starts smearing the foul smelling paste on Nyota’s face. She crinkles her nose, sucks both lips in and bites down hard as the woman calmly proceeds to cover her whole face in five different colors that all smell like they’re mixed with excrement.

Her arms are next and that’s when she realizes she’s not wearing her sweatshirt and pants anymore. They’ve put her in wraps made of furry leather that barely cover her chest and hips, and that scuff between her legs when she moves. She shakes her head in denial for a moment, remembering old broadcasts on the interface with feral warrior women who run around in these kinds of outfits, and wield swords, and who can jump up on trees in a single leap. She’s no fierce warrior woman. She’s sixteen. She can’t do this. 

A cup is pressed to her mouth and she doesn’t want to drink whatever is in it but the old woman grabs her hair and pulls until Nyota feels like her neck is going to break. So she gives in and opens her mouth and chokes on the pungent sludge that slides into her mouth before she manages to swallow right. It tastes vile and burns going down her throat and she thinks of the one time that she sneaked whiskey out of her daddy’s office and tried it. She felt light headed, just like now, but then she started puking violently and she thinks she’s going to puke now. But against all odds the disgusting brew actually stays in her stomach and the lightheadedness turns into dizziness like she’s spinning in her seat.

Her eyes go wide as she stares into the fire and everything fades away to the bright light and the rhythm of the drums pounding in time to her pulse. She sways with it and breathes slowly and deeply. In and out, in and out. The flames are the prettiest color she’s ever seen and she isn’t afraid anymore. She isn’t anything anymore. She feels warm, though. The burn in her stomach is spreading outwards and she can feel it crawl up her arms and down her legs as she watches the flames and listens to the drums. 

~~

Spock dons his ceremonial garb with measured movements. If he was human he would feel nothing but disgust for the sparse clothing that he is obligated to wear during the ritual. The slacks barely cover him from hip to knee and the green sash wrapped around his waist serves no real purpose. 

“Ritual and custom, shrouded in antiquity,” he remarks quietly to himself as he ties the sash. 

He is alone as he makes his way to the sacred mountain, Seleya, for the ritual. It is not surprising to him that this ritual happens in seclusion and under the exclusion of everyone except for the closest male family member and the ceremonial master. He does not know what his father told his mother and he does not want to know. 

As he arrives at the gathering place on Mount Seleya, precisely at midday, the ceremonial master, Storak, and his father already await him. He steps before the raised dais and offers his greeting to Storak who returns it in kind. 

“As it has been in the beginning, as it will always be, so it is now.” The old man’s voice rings booming in the silence of their environment. “Who gives this young man away to complete the Kahs’dahr?” 

His father steps forward and inclines his head before Storak. “I, Sarek, Son of Skon, father of Spock.” 

Storak nods in acceptance before he turns his gaze back on Spock. “Are you, Spock, son of Sarek coming forth willingly to undertake the Kahs’dar as a son of Vulcan?” 

Spock refrains from raising his eyebrow, aware that this is nothing more than a disclaimer to wash their hands off any guilt that might arise in the aftermath of the performed ritual. He bows his head minimally and gives them preemptive absolution in a bland tone. “I come forth willingly.” 

Storak accepts his answer with another nod before he raises his hand towards Sarek. “Bring forth the yerak and kak.” 

His eyes follow his father’s movements as he does Storak’s bidding and fetches the items. Inside the large shallow bowl stands the potbellied, slim-necked pitcher, waiting to be used. His father carries the yerak in both hands and stops when it fills the space between Spock and Storak.

The ceremonial master lifts the kak from it and motions for Spock to place his hands over the shallow bowl. Spock can smell the pungent aroma of the liquid inside the decanter and hesitates for a moment before he moves his hands and lets them hover over the yerak. 

Storak lifts the pitcher high and starts pouring the viscous, transparent fluid over Spock's hands. “As this oil cleanses your hands, so your mind shall be cleansed of the last vestiges of youth and ignorance.” 

It takes all his willpower not to pull his hands away and wipe them on his sash. The sensation of the oil is strange and seems to penetrate his skin. He is at once aware of every nerve ending in his fingers and palms as his skin begins to tingle and cool significantly. He is strongly reminded of the ointment that his mother had used to treat his burns after he returned from his Kahs’wan. 

As Storak continues to pour, Spock can feel the sensation spread from his hands over his wrists to his arms. The feeling is strange, but not entirely unpleasant. His breathing deepens and he notices that his heart beat seems to speed up. His gaze becomes fixated on his hands and he finds that he cannot tear it away even as the yerak and kak are removed from his field of vision.

“Bring forth the lith’ik.” 

He is still fascinated by the sensation traveling up his arms and towards his abdomen as a large goblet is pressed into his hands and guided towards his mouth. He swallows the viscous liquid automatically and cannot ascribe any particular taste to it as it slides down his throat. The tingling sensation in his body intensifies and he vaguely registers it spreading throughout his circulatory system.

His mind loses focus and he is mildly concerned that he cannot follow the words of Storak anymore. While there seems to be no failure in his auditory system, he cannot fully process the fleeting words and seems to be incapable of concentrating on their meaning properly. However, as he stands and listens, he becomes aware of a growing urge inside him to find something. No, not something, someone. 

~~

She’s thrumming with energy, thrilled with the chase, her heart thundering in her chest as she runs through the tall grass, bare feet thumping hard on the dry ground. She’s been given a purpose, something to do with the wild energy coursing through her body. She has to find the beast, find it and kill it. She feels stronger than ever, faster than ever, better than ever. It’s exhilarating and unnerving at the same time. She needs to find it, find it and kill it. 

Her eyes rush across the mostly barren landscape in front of her, hunting for the signs of the beast. She knows she will find it. She needs to find it quickly. Her legs pump faster and she jumps over any obstacles in her path as if they were nothing. She strains her ears to listen for noises. It has to be here somewhere. 

She pushes on until she reaches a pond. Where there’s water, there are animals. She crouches and looks for tracks. There are many, too many to be sure, but she thinks one of them belongs to her prey. Her head snaps up and she inhales deeply through her nose, smelling dust and animal feces. And blood. It has to be near.

Her heart is pounding in her ears as she continues on, following the scent of blood. As she moves closer to a small copse of barren trees, she sees it. She doesn’t recognize the disemboweled, mangled carcass in the branches, but she knows this is how her prey hunts. This is what it does when it has killed. 

She looks around frantically, trying to see through the tall grass and find her prey. It won’t be far, not when its food is still here and the water is so close by. Her muscles are shaking from the effort of running, but she tries to slow her breathing as much as possible so she can listen. 

Then she hears it; the low, rolling growl of the animal. She whips her face in its direction and narrows her eyes as she peers into the tall grass, trying to locate its position. 

~~  
Spock is disoriented. He feels compelled to find someone, yet he has no logical explanation for this impulse and cannot pinpoint its source. He concludes that the ritual beverage he has consumed contains some form of stimulant that is making him act in this manner. 

Despite his best efforts to focus, he finds his eyes wandering around the barren landscape, trying to recognize and catalog the plant and animal life surrounding him, yet failing to do so as the concepts escape his memory. This troubles him as much as his inexplicable need to find that elusive someone. 

His body is not entirely under his control and he finds it disconcerting that, despite his best efforts, he cannot force his heartbeat to slow or his breathing to even out for more than a minute at a time.

A rolling growl in the distance draws his attention. Spock snaps his head in the direction of the noise and starts to walk quickly, then run. He feels tall grass whip past his arms and legs, leaving shallow cuts on his skin. The noise repeats and then there is a scream. 

Human. Female. Scared. 

Spock redoubles his efforts, running faster towards the noise. He breaks through the tall grass into a large oasis, water on one side and trees on the other. Right in front of him is a fully grown leopard, crouched over its prey.

~~

Nyota screams at the top of her lungs, forcing the shaft of her spear between the razor sharp fangs. She pushes with all her might. Her sides hurt and her skin burns where the claws have cut her, but she knows she has to keep fighting. If she doesn't fight, she will die. 

The beast drools around the wood, pawing and clawing, pure instinct, intent on killing her. 

A sob bursts from Nyota's throat as she turns her face away from the monster, pushing and shoving against the weight on her chest, feeling the burn each time the claws break her skin. The sob turns into a frustrated scream as she tries to push back the animal. 

Her scream cuts off with a gasp when something much heavier than both of them collides with the beast, knocking it off her. She collapses against the ground, heaves in sobbing breaths, her arms akimbo, still trembling form the effort to press the spear into its gaping maw and keep it from eating her alive. She can hear the noises, but she doesn't dare to look. 

The animal hisses and growls, pelting its opponent with heavy paws.

The attacker grunts loudly as it throws the beast to the ground with a weighty thud and a deafening roar.

Human. Male. Furious. 

She lets out a broken moan and rolls over, pushing herself up on her knees. She grabs her spear and half crawls, half runs towards the two opponents. Her mouth hangs open, sucking in air as she whirls the rod around and buries the metal tip inside the animal. She grits her teeth and pushes deep, twisting the shaft until the sharp tip is buried far inside the beast. 

Her eyes meet those of the man grabbing the animal's throat. He is pale, and pointy-eared. His lips are pressed in a thin line. His skin is flayed with shallow cuts from shoulders to ankles. He's wearing nothing but a pair of pants that reaches from hip to knee and a green sash around his waist that is wildly out of place in the barren yellow desert surrounding them. 

Nyota licks her dry lips and looks at him with curiosity, adrenaline pumping through her veins. 

She killed the beast. 

Spock looks back with wide eyes. 

She's the first dark skinned person he's ever seen. Her skin glows with sweat, the leather cloths around her chest and groin leaving little to the imagination. The muscles in her arms and legs are lean and strong, flexing as she twists the spear one last time before she yanks it out of the beast and throws it aside. She looks at him shrewdly, like she's trying to decide if he's an ally or another threat to be dealt with. 

He sits back, bracing his hands on the dirt behind his back, looking at her with unveiled interest. He wants her. 

She drops to her knees in front of him, leaning in until there's barely any space between them. Her mouth drops open slightly as she sucks in a breath. She blinks slowly and closes the distance. Arms locking around his neck, she presses their lips together, pushing her tongue into his mouth. 

He groans and throws his arms around her middle, feeling warm skin and agile muscle under his hands as she straddles his lap and wraps herself around him like a vine. 

Their tongues battle for dominance as she grinds her crotch into his lap, tearing mindlessly at the sash around his waist. The fabric yields easily and she wraps it around her arm like a hunting trophy before she attacks his pants with equal fervor. 

He pulls on the fur coverings around her chest, forcing them up until she has to raise her arms. Once they're past her shoulders, they easily come off and land on the ground beside them with a soft thump while he buries his face in her chest, licking and sucking at her stiff nipples and the soft skin around them. 

She paws at the closure in the front of his pants until she's able to free his stiff member, jutting up thick and heavy with arousal. She licks her lips and shifts forward, pushing her loincloth aside to make room, and sinks down, taking the whole length inside of her in one swift move. 

They both groan and stare at each other open-mouthed before instinct takes over. Her hips roll against him in quick, hard circles. His arm clamps around the small of her back, pulling her close. His other hand reaches for her face. She stops it short with a firm grip around his wrist.

She keeps his fingers away from her face, staring him down as she grinds her hips in tight circles, squeezing down on the hard length inside her. Her eyes stay glued to his face, watching his expression tighten as she flicks her tongue against his palm and up his fingers until she takes the first two digits into her mouth and sucks on them as hard as she can. 

He sucks in air like there's not enough of it, pupils blown as he stares up at her. His hand is slack in her grip as he watches his fingers disappear into her mouth and reappear wet with spit. On the next pass, he hooks the tips behind her teeth and pulls her face towards his until they collide in a kiss, messy and wet, tongues mashing around his fingers until he moves them to the meld points on her face, slick with spit and smearing through the paint on her face. 

They grunt into each other's mouths, sensations feeding back and forth between them; rutting harder, faster, no consideration for anything outside their own pleasure. Tension rising, tightening, prickling inside chest, legs, fingers, groin. Climax like an electric current, gasping, twitching, moaning, blind for just a second before everything stops, relaxes, calms down to heavy breaths and leaden limbs. 

She collapses against him and takes a few deep breaths, thighs shaking. Then her eyes open wide when she realizes what just happened. She jumps up, stumbles backwards and lands on her butt. She scrambles back onto her feet and moves quickly, lifting the dead leopard around the middle and clutching it to her chest like an oversized plushy toy. She stares at him with blank panic. 

He watches her move backwards, still unbalanced from his climax, struggling to move to his knees and get up. By the time he raises his hand to reach after her, it's too late. 

The girl is running away from him as fast as the weight of the dead animal on her shoulders allows. 

~~

The Head of the Linguistics Department slaps his hands together with a loud clap. “Well, I'm sure you have much to discuss before the semester starts.” 

Spock does not betray any emotion on his face as he regards the woman in front of him. “It would appear so.” 

She meets his gaze firmly, but her posture betrays her as she squeezes her legs together and clenches her hands into fists. “Yeah, I guess we do.” 

“Go on then,” the Department Head says, oblivious to the tension between them. “I have some reports to get back to, and I'm sure you'll do better getting into the nitty-gritty elsewhere.” 

Her lips twitch as a huff of air escapes her nose. She swallows. “Probably.” Her eyes are still firmly fixed on Spock's.

“Without a doubt,” he says calmly, one brow arching high in acknowledgment of the unintentional double entendre. “After you, Cadet Uhura.” He brings one hand forward to motion towards the exit. 

She turns and steps into the sensor, waiting for the door to slide open before she moves on. “Please, call me Nyota.” 

The End


End file.
